


Accidentally in Love

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2014212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which literally everyone realizes it before these two nerds do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidentally in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer applies as always. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

The first full sentence that Bahorel ever said to Feuilly — beyond the head jerk and the casual “Hey” uttered when Courfeyrac introduced them — was a slightly drunken, “If I had to pick a guy to fuck, I’d probably pick you.”

The first full sentence that Feuilly ever said to Bahorel, after casually looking him up and down and taking another swig of his beer, was an equally drunken, “Good for you, but I’d probably pick Enjolras.”

Bahorel turned to glance appraisingly at Enjolras, currently red-faced and arguing with an almost dazed-looking Grantaire, and shrugged. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Neither could remember later what had even steered the conversation in the direction of picking one of their friends to have sex with, but it hardly mattered, as it was only the first of such conversations, especially since within only a few weeks of meeting, they ended up living together.

In many ways, they couldn’t be more different: Feuilly was constantly hard at work, while Bahorel was normally hardly working, but they somehow found a way to live together so that they balanced each other out.

Normally, anyway, but even then they occasionally got on each other’s nerves. Or worse.

Such as one Thursday, when Bahorel went out after a Les Amis meeting with Grantaire and Bossuet, while Feuilly headed back to their apartment, planning to get to sleep early, since he had worked all day and was bone-tired. But just when he was starting to fall asleep, the door to the apartment banged open, and Feuilly groaned and rolled over to bury his face in his pillow, hoping that Bahorel might get ready for bed quickly.

Instead, Bahorel got himself a beer from the fridge and sat down on the couch, turning on the X-Box and not bothering to turn down the volume. Feuilly made a frustrated noise into his pillow. On any other day, it might have not been a big deal: Feuilly might have rolled over, told Bahorel to can it, and they would have laughed about it the following morning. But tonight, well, tonight was a product of two weeks of bickering and generall il-feelings, which helped explain why Feuilly got out of bed, stomped over to the X-Box, and pulled the power cord, not even caring — or at least not even caring  _too_ much — if Bahorel had saved or not.

Bahorel stared at him. “Dude,” he said, too surprised to come up with real words.

Feuilly was too tired and grumpy to come up with words as well, so he gave him the finger. This was clearly the wrong response, since it caused Bahorel to jump to his feet, almost spilling his beer in the process. “What the fuck did you do that for, you nincompoop?” he shouted at Feuilly.

“I did it because I actually wanted to get some sleep for once and not have to listen to whatever the fuck game you were playing!” Feuilly shouted back. “And who the fuck uses the word ‘nincompoop’ anymore, anyway?”

“Well clearly I do, because it’s a fan-fucking-tastic word, and because you’re acting like a fucking nincompoop!”

“It  _is_  a fantastic word but that doesn’t mean that it applies to me in this situation!”

They both paused for breath. Feuilly’s face was almost dangerously red and Bahorel was breathing as if he had just been through three rounds in the boxing ring. Slowly, Feuilly’s face returned to its normal shade, and Bahorel’s hands unclenched. “Nincompoop really is a great word,” Feuilly admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “And I honestly don’t even remember what we were fighting about.”

Bahorel shrugged, a smile twitching on the corner of his mouth. “I believe you were being a nincompoop and I was being an asshole for not letting you sleep. Which, uh, I’m sorry for, by the way.”

Feuilly shrugged as well. “It’s fine. But I’d like to state for the record that if anyone here is a nincompoop, it’s definitely you.”

“Fair enough,” Bahorel said easily. He frowned at Feuilly. “Are you going back to bed, then, or…?”

Shrugging again, Feuilly admitted, “Well, I’m not tired  _now_ …”

“Movie?” Bahorel suggested. Feuilly shrugged. “Indiana Jones?”

Feuilly narrowed his eyes. “Raiders or the Last Crusade?”

Bahorel looked affronted. “Dude. What do you think I am?” Feuilly smirked and Bahorel went to fetch the proper DVD (Raiders, of course, though Last Crusade was a close second for both of them).

They settled on the couch together, Feuilly curled up in one corner, Bahorel in the other. But as the movie went on, Feuily slowly scooted closer to Bahorel, until he was finally curled up against Bahorel, who put an arm around his shoulder. And when Feuilly fell asleep halfway through the movie, Bahorel let him sleep against his shoulder.

And once the movie was over, Bahorel carried Feuilly to bed and tucked him in gently before kissing him on the forehead and going to bed himself.

* * *

 

For a while, Feuilly and Bahorel were each other’s best wingmen, introducing random individuals to their roommate and waggling their eyebrows suggestively as they did. But after only a few weeks, their prospects seemed to fizzle out. “Man, my playing field has been so dry recently,” Feuilly mourned over a beer at the Musain.

Bahorel sighed. “Dude, you’re telling me. I don’t even know when the last time was that I got laid.”

“Three weeks ago,” Feuilly told him. “That redhead chick from the Corinthe.”

Bahorel smacked his arm. “It was a rhetorical statement, you fucking douchecanoe.” Feuilly stuck his tongue out at him and they tussled for a few moments before breaking apart and laughing.

The waitress stopped by the table to clear their empty beer glasses off and smiled at them. “How long have you been dating?” she asked.

They stopped and stared at each other. “We’re not..” Bahorel started, while Feuilly spluttered, “He and I, we…”

She raised both eyebrows at them. “I’m so sorry,” she said smoothly. “I just assumed, with the way you were with each other…I’m very sorry about that.”

She bustled off quickly, leaving Bahorel and Feuilly staring at each other. Feuilly chuckled weakly. “Well, I guess we know now why we haven’t been having much luck recently.”

Bahorel nodded. “Yeah. Because you’re a fucking cockblock.”

“Dude, if anyone’s a cockblock, it’s  _you_.”

This led to another argument that carried them through to the Les Amis meeting that night, where they sat at opposite ends of the room, both ignoring each other. Jehan was the one who noticed first, and slid into the seat next to Feuilly. “Did you and Bahorel break up?” he asked, sounding concerned.

Joly and Bossuet had settled on either side of Bahorel, and Bossuet patted his knee gently. “Breakups can be hard,” he said, sympathetically. “But we’re all friends with both of you, and we’ll help you through it.”

“What?” Feuilly asked, staring at Jehan, while on the other side of the room, Bahorel choked on his drink. “Bahorel and I — we aren’t—”

“We were never  _dating_ ,” Bahorel told Bossuet and Joly, who looked first surprised, then disappointed. “I mean, he and I we’re just, you know, friends—”

“Best friends,” Feuilly assured Jehan, who didn’t look convinced. “And roommates, of course, but there’s nothing going on between us other than that.”

“I love him like a brother,” Bahorel told Joly and Bossuet earnestly, before they all fell silent when the meeting started.

Joly looked pointedly at Bossuet and then texted him. [ _Love him like a brother, my ass_.]

Bossuet avoided looking back at Joly, but a smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. [ _If he loves Feuilly like a brother then, Christ, Grantaire loves Enjolras like a cousin (first cousin, of course, since you have your cousins and then you have your first cousins…)_.]

Joly had to excuse himself from the meeting for a few minutes, he was laughing so hard.

After the meeting, Bahorel awkwardly made his way over to Feuilly, who was chatting with Grantaire, and stood there silently until Grantaire excused himself to go talk to Joly, who was insistently beckoning to him. “So,” Bahorel said, wanting to start the conversation, but unsure of how to do so. “Apparently the waitress isn’t the only one who thought we were dating.”

Feuilly raised an eyebrow at him. “Joly and Bossuet thought we were, too? Jehan thought the same thing.”

Bahorel chuckled weakly. “Weird of them, right?”

“Totally weird,” Feuilly agreed. “Because we aren’t. Because we…don’t. Right?”

“Right,” Bahorel said, a little too quickly. “I mean, not that you’re not, you know, but…”

“Right,” Feuilly agreed. “Same.”

That was the end of the conversation and after saying goodbye to everyone, they made their way back to their apartment in relative silence. As they were getting ready for bed, Bahorel said, too casually to be truly casual, “It’s totally weird that everyone thought we were dating, right?”

Feuilly shrugged, his back turned to Bahorel as he pulled his pajama pants on. “Right. I mean, we’d be awful together, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Bahorel agreed, crossing over to Feuilly, who turned around slowly to face him. “Really awful. Worse than Enjolras and Grantaire.”

“And that’s saying something,” Feuilly whispered, since Bahorel was suddenly standing right in front of him.

They both stared at each for a long moment, both bare-chested and in pajama pants, then Bahorel let out a growl and muttered, “Fuck it”, surging forward to kiss Feuilly, his hands dropping to Feuilly’s waist as if they had always belonged there.

Feuilly kissed him back before pulling away long enough to ask, his voice ragged, “What are you doing?”

Bahorel shrugged. “If everyone think we’re dating, we might as well be, right?”

Feuilly stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged as well. “Fuck it.” He pulled Bahorel to him and kissed him again.

* * *

 

A few weeks later and they had gotten rid of Feuilly’s bed, since they just slept together anyway, and Bahorel’s bed was deemed the more comfortable. For two people who hadn’t realized they had been dating, when they thought about it, they had practically been dating since they met.

Which is to say, things went pretty perfectly for them from that point on.

Sure, they still fought and bickered, and more than once Bahorel still carried Feuilly to bed on nights when he stayed up too late and was tired from work during the day, but more than once Feuilly had woken him up far too early but with kisses and coffee, and that made it all worth it, really.

There was always going to be times when Bahorel played X-Box too loudly or Feuilly was grumpy from lack of sleep, and their relationship may never have been conventional, but it just  _worked_  for them.

And then they finally told all their friends that they were dating, there wasn’t even the cursory exchange of money from the bets their friends inevitably had going. “What, did you all doubt us that much?” Feuilly asked, a little insulted.

Grantaire raised his beer in a toast. “No, we all lost. We all bet you’d tell each other months ago. You’re more stubborn than we gave you credit for.”

Bahorel laughed and pulled Feuilly to him and kissed him. “Well, they’re not wrong,” he told Feuilly, who just scowled.

“Maybe not about you. Nincompoop.”

Bahorel looked affronted. “ _You’re_  the nincompoop.”

They kissed again. Strange as it may seem, it worked for them, and they wouldn’t want it any other way.


End file.
